At the funeral I didn't stand by Warren and I didn't hold his hand. I was on the opposite side of the casket and Will stood next to Warren. I hated the look of black on my friends. I hated how it brought out the bags under Warrens eyes. I hated the contrast of my pasty skin to his tan complexion.

We are all polar opposites. But like opposites we all have a charge. And maybe our charge wasn't supplied by friendliness or desperation, but need and compassion. But that doesn't matter right now. Now Warren's mother is being lowered into the ground, forever gone, forever.

He doesn't look mad, he looks lost. For once in his life maybe anger doesn't fill him and give him the satisfaction it used to. His mother was delicate, and breakable.

He looked to me from across and I did not try to smile.

I couldn't. I couldn't lie. And Warren didn't need that.

We all left. The grass was damp with water that darkened my already black shoes. Moisture hung in the air, you could almost see it. I walked away and looked back only once. Warren stood before his mother's grave, just standing. For how long he stood there I don't know. I can only assume he was getting the closure he needed. The closure he would never be fully granted.

His father had been taken away from him and so had his mother. I felt it cruel that he had to be alone in his first year of adulthood. But maybe it wasn't his first year. With people like Warren you can't help but wonder if they were born ready to suffer, to mourn, to feel.

The difference that I believe is between Warren and regular people is that Warren never goes numb. When people deal with loss all too fast at a young age, they learn to not feel because it's better than crying all the time. But Warren never cries, and he never goes numb. He just feels, feels it all more than I could ever feel it. More than I could ever take.

He's strong. But I often wonder just how far that strength will take him, just how tough it will allow him to be. It causes some damage when you allow yourself to feel, feel in the wrong way that is.

A small reception was held at the Paper Lantern. Will, Warren, and I sat at a table reserved for us. But the dreariness of it all. There was so much reality in one room it took every ounce of me not to cry. I didn't get to cry before Warren did. For some unknown reason I made that a rule in my head.

I remember Will taking my hand under the table. I think he sensed I was near a breakdown or something. I appreciated the comfort I could get.

Nobody ate, and nobody talked. Warren looked at everything except us. He didn't want to see the pity in our eyes, the pity we were both trying to keep out. I remember looking for that small woman folding napkins, and I felt a pang in my heart every time I didn't see her.

I remember that Warren finally had enough and left wordlessly and went up to his apartment. I felt so sad for him.

Will and I stood up. With one slight head jerk to Warren's direction and a tight hug, he was gone.

I walked up the steps with caution, remembering the last time I had done that. I didn't bother knocking and just walked into his apartment. I locked the door behind me and went in search of Warren.

I found him in his room, sitting on his bed. His room had a comfortable feel to it, serene. I could see why he would come here after his mother's funeral. But the house felt so empty with just Warren alone in it. It was like it was never designed that way, he was never supposed to be alone.

I approached his open door.

"Knock, knock." I said.

He looked to me and looked away. I took this as an invitation to sit next to him.

We sat in silence for a long time. He was mentally preparing himself and I wasn't about to force him into anything he wasn't ready for. He could take forever with me and I wouldn't mind. I knew in my mind that he deserved it, and that he needed it.

He needed someone to sit alone in silence with while he came to grips with what was going on.

I still wasn't sure if I fit the profile or not. I was willing, but you could never be sure if you were the one that Warren needed.

But soon he started talking a little bit.

"You know what gets me the most about her death?"

I shook my head. I didn't want to say anything unless he was talking to himself more than me. I liked to think that just my presence brought some comfort to him. Like, maybe he just needs another soul with him, maybe he wasn't ready to be alone yet.

I hoped he would never be.

"It's the fact that she was in enough danger as it was, being married to a super-villain. She was supposed to be constantly on alert. And she got killed in a random car accident by some drunk bastard."

You could see him furrowing his eyebrows, as if he was trying to find an answer to his own question. I looked around the room, the walls were a pale gray, fog-like almost. How could anyone think clearly in here?

I got up and made to leave, for some reason I felt this necessary. Warren didn't, he grabbed my wrist and looked up to me. The both of us weren't very good with spoken word, but we had a way of communicating that is indescribable even on paper. You might say it was in the eyes, or maybe we had a spiritual connection. But I don't think that's the right way to describe it.

All I remember was I sat back down extremely close to him, and looped my arm through his own and entwined our fingers. I thought that if he wanted me to be near him that I should be as close as I permitted myself to be. Well, apparently I was A OK with being close to him.

I remember leaning my head over his shoulder slightly, he smelled nice, not a flower nice, but a natural nice. It was yet again one of those other things I just couldn't describe. His own head leaned toward mine and his forehead lightly touched my hairline.

Things felt right, for a lack of better term.

"How did you deal with the pain?" He asked.

I knew what he was talking about, the incident.

"Warren, those are two different types of pain. You grieve differently for certain things you lose. It may be with your heart, or your head. Your actions or thoughts might be affected."

"What about you?"

I smiled lightly and said "My actions, my thoughts."

"And me?" He asked.

I remember my eyes were fixed on our hands the whole entire time.

"I really don't know, but my guess is that it all changes. And it would be a miracle if things, anything, stayed the same. After something like that, a life, gone, how can it not affect everything you know."

He never cried, just so you know. His strength always took him a long way. And if you're thinking that if he cried he would be able to mend himself your wrong. He always felt differently than everybody else, how he would be able to mend himself would be different as well.

I felt warm air on my head and figured he chuckled or something.

"That's a pretty good guess."

"Well" I started "With a lifetime of inexperience you start to get pretty good at it."

Except not anymore. That part I added in my head. I don't think bitterness would have done anything to help the situation, if the roles were reversed it wouldn't have helped me. They have the saying 'brutally honest' for a reason.

For a while we just sat there, finding a little bit of solace in the fact that we were both hurting. Granted, we were hurting for different reasons, but we both found a little bit of common ground.

"Are you afraid?" He asked, a little while later.

I was surprised by the question.

"Everyday." I said honestly.

"Everywhere I go, it's like, all the innocence and sunshine that I used to see everywhere, in everyone. It's all gone. Suddenly, everyone has the possibility of hurting me."

I felt selfish when I told him this, he had just lost his mother. And here I was, talking about a problem of my own, a problem he had saved me from.

"I don't want to hurt you." He told me.

I was confused. "Warren you're not hurting me."

"But I did, at some point, many points."

"I don't understand why you won't accept the fact that that's all in the past. The only one who's hurting from it still is you. I've forgiven you Warren, I've forgiven you because I need you, in my life. Why can't you?"

We were both hurting so much and I couldn't help but want to alleviate that. But no matter what I did I was never able to do anything. He needed me and I needed him but I didn't want to solve ourproblems this way.

"I don't know why. Maybe, maybe because you were something good in my life and I feel responsible for the way you are now. You've lost hope, maybe that's my fault."

I gripped his hand tighter "It's not."

No matter how hard I tried I couldn't resist. I turned my head upward slightly and leaned close to him, kissing him. He must've been shocked but I couldn't tell otherwise. His right hand went from his lap, crawling slowly up my thigh and attaching onto my hip.

I want to tell you that there were fireworks everywhere and that tingles went down my spine and electrocuted my nerves from the tips of my hairs to each toe. But it really wasn't like that, it was serene, and perfect really. I noticed all those things that they don't tell you in all those romance novels you never read. The feel of his fingertips as they pressed slightly into my waist. The light smacking our lips made as we kissed, how I could feel his breathe on my cheek and my bottom lip as our kisses grew more frenzied. I savored the feel of his back muscles and his cotton shirt, how cool and soft it felt compared to our warm bodies.

I heard the silence in his room, and noticed that this silence felt right. Although, it didn't stay too silent. After a little while, our kisses grew intense and needier. He was like the taste of chocolate for the first time. Everything you had ever heard except experiencing it on your own is like this euphoric sensation. And you just can't get enough.

Our advances grew a little bolder, hands that had stayed planted in one spot, became a little more confident and ventured into unknown territories. His hand slipped under the back of my shirt and pushed slowly up my back. I shivered a little and sighed, tugging away from his lips.

We both looked so lost, so confused. Too much was happening in too little time. Was it just yesterday that the new school year was starting? Warren's mother killed? Myself assaulted?

In the back of my mind I wondered if I was prepared for this. A week after being assaulted, shouldn't I be scared, a wreck, somewhat reclusive?

I had to know.

I swallowed hard and kissed him again. It was somewhat slower, but a hard kiss nonetheless. It was more passionate than needy. He moved his kisses from my lips to my chin, to my neck and sucked slightly on the spot behind my ear. I exhaled slowly and kissed his jaw. Hesitantly, he slowly removed the black t-shirt I was wearing and looked to me.

I couldn't smile. I couldn't tell him that everything was going to be okay in the end because I didn't know. I never knew, I've never known. But the reassurance in his eyes was all I needed to be tricked. I wanted to be tricked, I wanted to be deceived. People always say things are going to be okay when its not. It's a mistake to say that, you just fall harder. You can't convince yourself that everything will be okay when it's not. So is that what Warren was? A mistake?

No. He was a beautiful mistake.

I wanted to say the things that were plaguing both of our minds. Warren's mother was dead. She was dead. I was scared, a wreck; broken. But he was there, and he made me forget. We created something new that I had never experienced before. I couldn't classify it, examine it, study it. I could only feel. I lifted his own shirt over his head.

I don't remember how long it was we just stared at each other. Both of us realizing what a mistake, a beautiful mistake; a disaster, this would all be. But neither of us could stop it. We didn't want to, we wanted to stumble upon this and we were afraid of what might happen if we didn't. The fear in our eyes was overwhelming, but we related to each other. We would be able to get rid of it, if only with each other, and if only for a little while.

But maybe that's enough.

I wanted to make that first move. Something that would signify that there was no turning back. I raised my arm and felt across his chest. Feather-light touches over a warm body. We both took deep and heavy breathes. I felt conscious of the difference in our skin colour. His warm, deep toned fire and my ethereal, porcelain white. We were the sun and moon.

With a hard passion he kissed me. It took my breath away. Hands, everywhere, touching, grasping, anything. The feel of his hair through my fingers, his light stubble on his face, the feel of his hands on my stomach. It hurt not to be touching him.

Clothes were gently removed despite our needy front. And I remember it all so clearly and so vividly. I was a virgin when I was with him. I knew it was supposed to be uncomfortable, but it wasn't. Maybe I was too caught up in it all, focusing too clearly on his every touch, taste, and smell. But I wanted to memorize it all, burn it into my senses and touch.

Every touch of a desk, my two fingers sliding across the smooth covering of it, would bring about memories of him, remind me, his hand as he slid it down my thigh. My head leaning back into the pillow facing up, eyes closed, as his lips trailed back and forth across my neck.

Every look from Will, Magenta, a stranger. The fire in our eyes as we tried to prolong the passion by holding on and rocking slower, deeper, more. The stare we held, the furrowing of his eyebrows.

Every bird chirping from a tree top or branch. His moans and slight gasps being breathed into my ear while his hands were buried deep in my hair. My own breaths coming short in his ear, struggling to breathe from the intensity of it all. Hands clenching onto his back.

Every fire, star, or colour. The deep burning in my center, not scalding at all. Just right and good. More, that's all.

He was all around me, in every sense, every colour. You couldn't tell where one of us began and one ended. We knew, but we would never tell. It was our secret, it kept us sane in a maddening way.

And afterwards, we lay side by side on our backs, breathing heavy and struggling to understand the depth of our actions. But we didn't care, not at the moment. I felt safe, and Warren had someone. When we both turned to look at each other I remember how intense it felt, the burn in our stare. His hand came up and caressed my cheek, flexing his thumb over the skin underneath my eye. He kissed my lightly, and I moved closer to him. Burrowing my neck into the place between his head and shoulder, he took my hand and placed it close to him. Over his heart, this may or may not have been symbolic, but we both fell asleep even before I had time to ponder it.

I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in. Warren was still next to me. I leaned upwards slightly, making sure to keep the blanket at my collarbone, and watched him. He didn't look angry or sad or lost like he had yesterday. He looked calm and peaceful almost. His hair was away from his face.

I'm bad at holding myself back, so I couldn't help but lay my hand on his cheek, feeling the smooth skin there. I was surprised when his own hand came up and rested on top of mine, his eyes opened slowly until he was staring at me. I didn't know where we stood at that point, did he ever want to see me again? Was this a one night stand? Did he love me?

Like I loved him.

He pushed himself up until he was in a sitting position against his headboard. I joined him and gathered the blanket above my breasts.

I was scared to move, scared to say anything. And when he moved and put on his clothes and went into the bathroom I closed my eyes the entire time. Once he was in the bathroom I slid down until I was lying down again. I felt silent tears roll down my face until I brought the sheet to my mouth and bit down as hard as I could as silent sobs shook me. I dressed quickly and silently. Nothing, not a mouse, a dog, a human, could have heard me.

I left and walked home, it was only around a 15 minute walk. There was fog outside again, but the sky showed promise of sun. The fog felt cool against my scratchy eyes and cheeks. When I got home no one was there.

My mother had left a note saying she had gone into the city for a couple of hours on business. She would be home later that night.

I walked up the stairs quietly. My shoes had been abandoned at the door and my bare feet felt good on the extremely soft carpet. I stripped all of my clothes and stepped into the shower.

It felt good to be alone in the house because I could cry as hard as I needed to and no one would hear me. I leaned against the side of the shower and sobbed as much I felt I needed to while the steaming water hit my back and shoulders. I placed my head under the shower and wanted to drown, to die.

He didn't love me.

I placed my head in my hands and cried some more. I kept asking myself how I could have been so stupid. How on earth I had the notion that sleeping with my best friend a week after someone attempted rape on me, his mother died, would do me any good? I remembered how it was good at the time, how safe I had felt, the safest I had felt in a long time. But there's also a reason people don't substitute sex for everyday life.

Had it come down to sex now?

Was it making love last night? And once reality destroyed it, sex?

I didn't want to think about this, I didn't want to think about him, and how I would have to see him tomorrow.

I just wanted to sleep.

I just wanted to forget.

I wanted to be dead, and I hated myself for thinking that because I had never thought that way before.

Why did things have to change?

Why did I love him?

I awoke the next morning with a headache. The blaring of my alarm didn't help any either.

I had changed into PJ's after my shower and basically flopped in front of the TV watching absolutely nothing, flipping around the channels. I didn't leave until I heard my mother come in the driveway. I walked up the stairs quietly and slipped into my bed. I didn't fall asleep for awhile. I couldn't, I kept thinking of him and the night before. And I just wanted to kill myself for being so naïve.

I got out of bed and changed into new clothes, some jeans and a green long-sleeved t-shirt. I combed back my hair into a pony tail and grabbed my bag. I went downstairs into the kitchen and greeted my mother.

"How are you dear?" She asked.

"Fine" Was all I could say.

"Tired honey? You're usually chatty"

"Yeah" I ate my cereal in silence and walked out to the bus stop. I saw Will waiting and he waved. I smiled genuinely. I was thankful for my friendship with Will, I knew that our friendship would last. If my relationship with Will survived a broken romance, maybe my friendship with Warren would remain preserved. But, maybe I didn't want it to.

"Hey" He said, squinting his eyes a bit. The sun was pretty strong today.

"Hey to you" I sighed.

"What did you do with Warren after I left" He asked.

Shit, I had to think of something quick for this. What to say, what to say. I lost my virginity, no, no that's not good. We made love to fill our lost souls, still not good enough, he broke my hear and feel like a walking basket-case, don't think that would be good.

"I did nothing, I tried to talk to him but the door was locked."

"Oh." He looked a little down.

"Well, we'll try talking to him today." Will said.

"Uh-huh." I tried not to have a nervous break down as we waited for the bus.

"Hey Layla, are you sure you're okay?" He looked skeptical of me.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure." I voiced, looking around, where was that damn bus?

"OK" Will shrugged and stepped onto the bus. I followed suit and sat next to some kid I didn't know, placing my head back and counting down the hours until the school day would be over.

When Will and I stepped off the bus I immediately saw him. Sitting on the ledge, looking as if he was waiting for somebody. He was anxious, a first I had ever seen for him.

"Come on" Will said. Nodding his head toward Warren.

I swallowed hard and followed him. We both stopped in front of him.

"Hey Warren, how was your weekend." Will asked. I thought this was kind of a stupid question, since Will didn't know about our escapade, how would he think the weekend went after his mother's funeral? Boys….

"It was.." He stare went from Will to me "fine."

I looked off to the side and rolled my eyes.

Zach, Ethan, and Magenta soon came up to Will and dragged him off telling him about something they did over the weekend. Because that's just my shitty luck. So of course I was alone with Warren.

He kept looking at me while I looked away. I decided I had enough of that and walked off.

"Layla, wait." He grabbed his bad and got off the ledge. I stopped in my tracks but did not face him.

"About that night.."

"Warren, I get it alright?" I turned around "I don't want to talk about this. I get it, we were both emotionally unstable and you think it's a mistake."

He came up close to me and I took a step back.

"Do you?"

"That doesn't matter." I turned to leave, but his arm wrapped quickly around my waist.

"It matters."

"You're the one who left" I whispered in an angry tone. I couldn't help but lace in a touch of hurt, I didn't mean to, it appeared me weaker.

I left before he could say anything. Ironic.

That night I was doing homework in the den when I heard the doorbell.

I answered the door and took a step back once I realized who it was.

"We need to talk." Warren said.

"Honey who is it?" Came my mothers distant voice from the kitchen.

"It's" I faltered. "It's Magenta, mom, we'll be up in my room."

I grabbed his arm and led him up the stairs into my room. I locked it behind me.

We stood a little ways apart. He swallowed hard and looked somewhat confused.

"There's a lot" he started "That was left unsaid. We didn't make any clarification as to what we were and I just couldn't presume."

"Presume what Warren?" I asked, I raised my eyebrows up briefly and looked away from him "Do I appear the kind of person that would just jump into bed with any male that walked past? Is that what you think I would do?" I felt hurt. He started to say something but I interrupted "I was a virgin Warren! Do you think I would've been with you unless" I tried again "Unless I loved you?" I looked down as the tears fell down once more.

I looked up again to him. "Did you have intentions of using me? Is that what you wanted to do?"

"How can you ask that?" He growled somewhat, angry.

"How can you ask me that?"

"What am I to you Warren?" I asked, walking closer and closer to him. "What am I to you?" I raised my voice slightly.

"What?" I said exasperatedly, looking directly up at him. My face bright with tears.

You could tell he was struggling an internal battle with himself. "If you don't love me, I need to know. I have to know" My voice was weak and I was all but sobbing lightly "I need to know, I can't spend the rest of my life wondering Warren. It'll kill me. It is killing me."

"I need to know if my attempts were all in vain, for nothing. Am I nothing to you?" I placed my hands on his chest. I was silently begging an answer.

"Everything." He said quietly. I looked up, praying that what I heard was real.

"You are everything to me." He said. Bringing his two hands to surround my face, wiping away my tears.

"But do you know how much that scares me? How much it will hurt to lose someone again. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't lose you, I love you. I just-" I cut him off with my lips, it was all I needed to hear. All I wanted to hear. He returned my kiss with a hard passion that made me cling harder to him.

"You won't" I breathed after we parted "You won't lose me, Warren."

"I hurt you" He said. "I hurt you when I promised I wouldn't."

"You'll make up for it."

I smiled and he smiled back, and I kissed him before he could say anything else. The kisses were sweet and even more sweeter now that I didn't have to question his motives.

We moved slowly to the bed and I stopped thinking. I stopped thinking about everything and everyone and simply allowed myself to feel at the same level as Warren.

Being with Warren so far had cost me my hope. I won't lie. But it brought me to him, it brought me to someone I could be with and feel like I was discovering a new side to myself. Maybe to make up for the one I lost.

Ultimately it ended up being that Warren became half of me as I discovered who he was. And maybe how it all ended up was a disaster, we stumbled from thorn bush to thorn bush until our hands were bleeding from the fall. But we both made it back up, cleaned up our bruises and dusted off our pants,and what we were able to produce from it was anything but a disaster.

He was a beautiful mistake, and I was his beautiful disaster.

Maybe that's the way it should have been the whole time.

A/N: Yay, I'm done. I'm not too sure I like this but I DO like the feeling of completing something. Okay, so tell me what you think but please try and be gentle. I don't really like flames, more like constructive criticism.